Bloom
by Lennox13
Summary: Flowers weren't meant to be warriors.


Ren hadn't always wanted to be a Huntsman. But now, he can't quite imagine being anything else.

A lot of children looked up to their parents and he had more reason than others to do so, but he never wanted to be a Huntsman when he was little, back when he still had the option to dream.

His father had been a Huntsman. He had protected others, had put the lives and safety of others before his own. Ren had loved his father, he still did, but he knew that he had never wanted to follow exactly in his footsteps, into _that_ life. Well, not until he fell headfirst into it, of course.

Ren hadn't wanted to be a Huntsman. And now, he can't quite imagine being anything else.

He doesn't remember what his dreams were before. Like most memories pre the destruction of his hometown, the dreams that might have once existed were filmed over, dusty and sharp as a dull knife sawing. He didn't revisit them often, never one for reminiscing, and he thought it was for the best to leave the delicate scab be. He had better things to focus on after all.

Like staying alive.

Ren was a good Huntsman. He could be better, but he wasn't the worst. He had to train harder than the others to be even fairly decent and he knew that he would never reach the disciplined skill of warriors like Weiss or Phyrra, or the natural raw talent of Ruby, the brute strength of Yang or Nora, or the sheer stubbornness of Jaune, because, _fuck,_ the guy was already as good as Ren and Jaune had started less than a year ago with not even a lick of training.

Still. Ren was fast. Ren was strong. Ren was patient. But when adrenaline rushed and spilt, when the Grimm neared, he still had to shout, to scream, at his limbs to do something - anything. His response would never naturally flip into fight and that knowledge sometimes filled him with shame. There was not a day that goes by that he didn't wonder if his team would be better off without him.

His fighting style sometimes hampered more than helped, hurt more than simple hampered. His team was full of close-combat experts, which he didn't excel at, so one would think that a ranged fighter would be their perfect compliment. But his aim wasn't that great either, taking long distance out of the game, even though his weapons were pistols. He didn't like getting close to his enemies either, even though his weapons were best suited for close-range and stronger as a melee weapon.

StormFlower was supposed to be good for both close-up and ranged fighting – the best of both worlds - but Ren hoped that nobody else noticed, guessed, knew that he very obviously was compensating for his lack of fighting spirit and talent.

And his Semblance? Useless. Utterly useless.

He hid his insecurity well, he thought. When one's Semblance was literally the masking of emotions, it came pretty easily. But behind a wall of patience and tranquillity, that same little boy cowered with tear-stained cheeks. He carefully cultivated this image of the sagelike warrior, the patient fighter who chose battles carefully, and he knew what others thought of him, that he was wise and experienced and waited to strike, when in actual fact, he was begging his legs to move, his arms to rise, his body to fight.

And it was hard.

It was so _fucking_ hard. To keep standing, to keep fighting, to keep going, when it could be so easy to just stand back and let someone else try.

They would probably do a better job, to be honest.

But.

She needed him.

Well, she probably didn't. Not really.

She was stronger than anyone he knew, with the skills, the motivation and the power to back it up. And somehow, for some reason, she had convinced herself that she needed him.

He didn't fight because of some selfless ideology, a hero complex, delusions of grandeur or for unattainable glory. Nope. He was just there because Nora was there. And he would follow her all over the world, to the ends of Remnant and back. He already had.

Ren made sure that she always had enough to eat since people constantly forgot that their friendly Valkyrie had a much faster metabolism than normal and _needed_ the food. He made sure to remember extra socks since her feet were always cold. He made sure to sleep close to her at night, his fingers always just at the edge of her bed or sleeping bag, his Semblance always on call in case her intense nightmares decided to pay her a visit.

He provided cover when she needed a break and distracted the enemy when she needed to power-up. He was merely there to play support to her god-like power. He had her back and, honestly, he wouldn't want it any other way.

Ren sometimes wondered, when it was dark and he was alone, or when it was day and she bounded ahead as light as light, if… if they hadn't been thrown together by some bizarre coincidence or alignment of coincidences, if… if then, they would still be friends, never mind knowing each other as intrinsically as they did now.

If their random childhood trauma hadn't bonded them together, would she still have chosen him? Would she look at him the same way? With unconditional trust, admiration, awe… love? Would she even know he existed?

He didn't believe in fate.

She was getting angrier, he felt, shorter of temper and more frustrated with the indecisiveness of people, their friends. Nora still saw the world in white and black, and he lov- appreciated that about her.

Ren protected her innocence even if he knew this to be wrong. But she protected him from the Grimm and so he believed it to be only fair that he protected her from the true corruption, greed and selfishness of humanity. Or tried to, at least. He was starting to slip.

She was also getting frustrated with him, he knew, because he was keeping too much at bay. The secrets and the evil kept piling up and his own doubts were more vivid and alive and present than ever before. He meditated whenever he got the chance to keep his emotions under control because otherwise, he'd have to use his Semblance if he didn't want every Grimm in a ten-kilometre radius to come running at the angry black storm of emotions boiling inside of him.

But she needed him. So, he swallowed, bit his lip, and closed his eyes. He breathed, and he smiled when she needed some reassurance.

And when it all got too much and he could feel the cracks start to split and he wanted to scream…. That's when she reached out and held his hand and calmed the turbulent seas of his soul.

And when his fuse finally burnt down to a spark and he swore he could feel himself come undone, Nora kissed him, and he believed in hope again.

Flowers weren't meant to be warriors.

But Nora was like sunshine, always light, always warm. And Nora was like rain, always unpredictable, always needed. Nora was like the very air he breathed, always giving him the strength to go on. Nora was everything he could ever need or want. For her, he would grow and live and thrive.

No matter where Ren was planted, no matter what the future brought, with Nora by his side, he could surely only but bloom.


End file.
